Day 7. Two-for-Tuesday prompt: 1. Write a days of the week poem, 2. Write a days of the weak poem.
I wrote three.

Each day is a gift

Sunday was topped with a bow
shiny silver paper inviting
reflection and hope.

Monday was behind the back
a quick surprise no time to wrap
while there were things to do.

Tuesday was a gift card
used without much thought
for practical household goods.

Wednesday was a flower
presented matter-of-factly
a small token of affection.

Thursday was a promise
more like an I-owe-you
remember patience is a virtue.

Friday was a red dress
slipped over silky skin revealing
at last it’s time to dance.

Saturday was slippers
friendly fuzzy fare
a lovely snuggle shared.

Rainy days and Mondays

On Monday, it rained and I thought
that’s what Mondays do best
as I shook the beaded droplets
from my new red boots,
the ones with the twill at the back,
and shivered my shoulders
into my black Mister Rogers sweater,
the one that’s unravelling slowly
after so many rainy days.


On the weakdays,
I wake up tired from
the tweets of surprise that
surprise me still because
how can you be surprised after
all this time and all our tears that
people are prey and pawns and
me too and me too and me too?

1 Comment

  1. smilecries

    How come “Each day is a gift” makes me cry? Probably because it’s perfect.


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